


The Savior

by barduilbabies (SpicyReyes)



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Barduil - Freeform, Gen, M/M, Multi, it's Thran, not a lot of Thorin love, so much Barduil
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-25
Updated: 2015-08-25
Packaged: 2018-04-17 06:51:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4656837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpicyReyes/pseuds/barduilbabies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thranduil, not Bilbo, gets the chance to save Thorin Oakenshield.<br/>He could care less about the Dwarf, but for the sake of the world, some things must be changed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Savior

**Author's Note:**

> whispers  
> I am also the author of the Orc!Bilbo fic but I wanted a barduil pseud

It started when Thranduil lay in his room, after the last fights of the War of the Ring were fought, and crying.  
No, not crying. Sobbing.

He rarely had opportunity to let go, and he took it when he could.

Legolas helped, but his son was off with his dwarf ‘friend.’

This meant that Thranduil was forced to bear the weight of those lost on his own.

He was not taking it well.

There was a knock on his door, and he choked down his next sob instantly. A few moments of heavy breathing and he was composed again, cleaning his face with a soft handkerchief and going to answer the door.

On the other side stood the royal messenger, holding an envelope with the little-used seal of Dale. Curious, Thranduil took it, sending the messenger away. He sought out his letter-opener and slit the envelope open, pulling the letter out.

What he read stopped his heart. It was belated news of the death of King Brand, Bard’s grandson.

He had always been close to the Men of Dale, particularly their Kings. Having grown fond of Bard during the Battle of Five Armies and the events surrounding it, he had kept close trade with Dale and close friendships with the rulers.

His day just got worse.

He let out a shaky breath, straightening his spine. There was no time for weakness. People died. Men died. There was nothing he could do.

“I wish there was,” he murmured. “I wish I could change their fates. I wish I could have stopped this blasted war.”

Do you? a voice whispered.

Thranduil spun around, looking about. “Who are you? How did you get in here?”

Turn around. The voice whispered.

Thranduil slowly obeyed, turning back. There, before him, stood a beautiful Elven woman, with skin darker than the night and hair of perfect silver.

“Who are you?” He asked again.

“I am the Lady of Stars, Varda,” she said. “Your people call me Lady Elbereth Gilthoniel, Queen of the Valar.”

Thranduil stared in wonder for a moment, before dropping to a knee. “My lady.”

“Rise,” she said. “Your manners do you credit, but I have asked you a question.”

Thranduil thought back. Do you? “The answer is yes, My Lady. I would have changed it all, had I the power.”

“And if I gave you this power?”  
Thranduil blinked. “You….you would do this?”

“Answer me.”

He swallowed, considering. “I would start at the Battle of Five Armies. I would lend my aid again, this time as a friend. I would save Thorin Oakenshield, in the hopes that he would keep Bilbo Baggins off his path of madness. Then I would send Master Baggins off with the Ring. I would tell him of what he possessed. I would end the war before it began.”

Elbereth smiled. “Then you may.”

“I...pardon?”

“I will send you back,” she said. “Armed with the knowledge you have now, I will let you save them. But be warned: Some things are not meant to change.”

She tapped his forehead, and the world went black.

He awoke on his throne, staring into the concerned eyes of his royal messenger.   
“My Lord?” the messenger prompted. “Did you hear me?”

“Repeat yourself,” he ordered.

“The guards have captured Dwarves within our forest. They are asking what to do with them.”

Dwarves…?

Elbereth’s words came swimming back into his mind. Had she really sent him back?  
Was this Thorin’s company, come to his woods once more, yet for the first time?

“Bring them to me,” he said.

“All of them?”

“All of them.”  
  


Time passed, and before he knew it, a plethora of guards marched into his throne room - headed by none other than Tauriel.

So it is true, he thought. I have been sent back.

“Report,” he ordered, trying to keep the crack from his voice.

“We found these Dwarves in the woods, being attacked by spiders. We killed the nest, but were unsure what to do about the trespassers.”

“Were they on the common road?” Thranduil asked.   
Tauriel looked taken aback at the question. “I...yes, My Lord.”  
“Then they were not trespassing. The common road is open to all, even Dwarves.”

She looked skeptical. “Of course, my Lord. Should I release them, then?”

“Not yet,” he said. “I wish to speak with their leader.”

The sea of guards parted in a fluid motion, revealing thirteen dwarves. Thranduil scanned them for the Hobbit, but saw only beards among the crowd.

Then Thorin Oakenshield stepped forward, and his attention was captured.

“What do you want from us?” Thorin asked. “We have not strayed from the path. You have no right to keep us here.”

“I have every right,” Thranduil couldn’t help but retort. “Nonetheless, you’re to be released, as soon as I have the chance to speak with you.”

“Speak of what?”

“Of your quest.”

He watched the Dwarf stiffen. “We go to visit the Iron Hills-..”

“Spare me the lie,” Thranduil drawled. “I know what you seek. I have lived many years. I have faced the Great Serpents of the North.” As he did before, he peeled back his glamor, letting his scars show. “You know not what you will awaken, returning to your mountain.”

Thorin glared. “You would deny me my birthright-...”

“I would not.” Thranduil replaced his glamor, hating to show the scars more than necessary. “I would ask that you do not deny me mine, either.” He stood, approaching the dwarf, circling the king. “I would ask you only once: Reclaim the mountain, and return to me the White Gems of Lasgalen.” He placed a hand over his heart, giving a slight bow, the most he could sincerely offer. “In exchange, I would offer you my aid.”

The Dwarves murmured amongst themselves for a moment.

“Think about it, laddie,” the old white-haired Dwarf whispered to Thorin. “It is a small price to pay.”

“It is no price to pay,” Thranduil said. “I gave those gems to your grandfather, asking only a necklace to be made from them, for my wife. He made the necklace, yes, but he would not give it to me. He hoarded my gems, refusing to return even a single one.”

Thorin looked skeptical. “You lie.”

“I have no reason to lie,” Thranduil all but shouted. “Your grandfather was obsessed with all things precious, and he summoned that dragon to the mountain. I warned him, Oakenshield. I warned him of what he would bring down on our heads. He would not listen.” He stepped forward. “I would now aid you in ridding yourselves of that beast, and afterwards, in rebuilding your home. In healing your wounded, in feeding your civilians. All I ask are those gems to be returned to me. Just a handful of gems.” He swept back up to his throne, sitting once more. “I will not beg you. The choice is yours. My aid, or your pride.”

“I would not trust you to keep your word, should the end of all days be upon us,” Thorin said.

“I have never retracted my word, not once,” Thranduil said. “I did not sacrifice my people to Smaug. This is what you would hate me for? Then by all means, do so. I have no fondness for your kind, either.” Thranduil rested his chin on his hand. “That is not in question. You do not have to like me. You simply have to choose.”

Thorin leveled Thranduil with a cool stare.

“I refuse.”


End file.
